A Mystic’s Vision

Lag B’omer celebrates the life and death of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Though mostly identified as the ‘father” of Jewish mysticism, he was also a dominating presence in Jewish Law and Midrash. At first glance, this seems rather strange: a mystic dabbling in the minutiae of Halacha. After all, what is mysticism if not lofty abstractions and esoteric meditations, truly a world apart from the mundane and prosaic questions that make up the texture of daily life! And yet, many of the great mystics were giants in Halacha.  Here, we will trace one thread of Kabbalistic thought and see how its message is applicable to so many areas of Judaism.

But before we begin this journey, let’s define - in general - the mystical vision as this: the physical conceals more than it reveals. What this means is that beneath all appearances lies the reality of the Infinite that can neither be perceived nor described. This is because our world is only the last stage of the creative process (hishtalshelus). Travel backwards and inwards and we would reach the original thought, or even higher still, to the Personality that conceived it.
In this analogy the mystical vision is one that looks beyond the surface reality of the world and the surface reality of human behavior. It is not enough to look at the final outcome. The real meaning lies in the hidden intention.

In this vein, let us return to our mystic hiding in a cave. What exactly occurred? Rabbi Yehuda bar Ilai commented on how fine are the streets, bridges, and baths built by the Romans. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai responded by noting that all their deeds were self-serving. They built marketplaces to put harlots there, bridges to levy tolls, etc. When this conversation was reported to the authorities, Rabbi Shimon was forced underground.
One must imagine that Rabbi Yehuda was fully aware that behind Roman technology lay moral bankruptcy. So what divided them? For Rabbi Yehuda, an achievement could be impressive in its own right. For Rabbi Shimon, every evaluation must also consider purpose. This is how Rabbi Shimon the mystic became a political subversive. (Curiously enough, this argument can be heard often today. Is a work of art deemed worthy even if it is morally objectionable? Should achievements be divorced from their creator’s message?)
Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Shimon debated more than politics. Most often they disagreed on matters of Jewish law. One example: On Shabbat, may a heavy table be dragged across the ground (which in itself, is permitted), if it unintentionally will make a furrow in the ground (which is forbidden)? (Beitzah 23b, Shabbat 29b) This problem is quite common. For example, you open a refrigerator on Shabbat to take out some food. The unintended rush of warm air causes the motor to start up. All you wanted was the food, not to start the motor. Nonetheless, the motor kicked in. What is the law? Should one look at the act (a furrow was made), or the intention (you needed the table)?
Rabbi Yehudah and Rabbi Shimon, true to form, view the table and the fridge the same way they judged the Romans. Rabbi Yehuda looks at the facts; Rabbi Shimon at the intention. Thus argued Rabbi Yehuda, a furrow appeared (literally, a fact on the ground), and that is forbidden. On this question, Rabbi Shimon once again assessed intention, and proclaimed the man guiltless.

So far we have traced mysticism from politics to Shabbat. Let us consider a far more dramatic case.  Under Roman rule, the Jews in Israel suffered severely. Persecution intensified to the point that the defenders at Masada took their own lives rather than fall into the hands of their savage enemies. Against this backdrop consider the following scenario. A band of Romans confront a group of Jews demanding any one Jew whom they will kill. If not, they warn, they will murder the entire group. (Tosefta, Terumot 7:23) An impossible dilemma; to hand over an innocent Jew is unforgivable. The Halacha is therefore unambiguous. Even if they must all die, the group must refuse. At least they will not have shared in the guilt.
However, there were cases (be aware that we are speaking about historical reality, not a theoretical discussion) that were more complex. What happened when the situation was not instigated by ruffians, but by the Roman authorities seeking a political dissident and who took refuge in a town?
Here, two new factors enter the equation. The first: the burden of choosing does not fall upon the Jewish community. Second: with such opponents as the Roman government, and with a whole town at stake, the question of Jewish survival becomes a factor. Already bereft of its Temple and its political independence, might Jewish communities in Israel negotiate this deal?

Jews then were numbed by such a choice. Nonetheless, Rabbi Yehuda argued that since either way the political refugee will be killed, let not the entire town also die. Though this is a logical response, Rabbi Shimon rejected it.

Rabbi Yehuda reasoned that the most valuable entity in the universe is a human being. But while it is more precious than any other value, its worth is still finite. Hence, there is a difference between one life and many lives. And this difference justifies sacrificing the one for the sake of the many. One implication of all the above: life is quantifiable. Rabbi Shimon however believed that life is not what we see, a body, but the hidden soul. Its value is not measurable, it is infinite.  And the death of one infinite soul equals the death of many infinite souls. Indeed, this is not even mysticism, it is simple math: Infinity times one and infinity times one hundred are the same. (This is not merely ancient history. Only recently, Jews were asked to collaborate with the Nazis in deciding which of their brothers should live and which should be handed over.)
So, you have finally met a mystic. His perception of a deeper reality guides his uncompromising opinion in every area of life. Is it possible for you or me to live by such standards? Without becoming Kabbalistic masters can we learn to unmask the Infinite of our world?  Perhaps we should start by being less judgmental? Instead of criticizing our friend’s action, we could inquire if there was a hidden intention; a concealed good, a worthy purpose? From there, we could learn to be less impressed with the shallow veneer of all the glitz and glamour of what’s in, hot, and trendy. Lastly, we could look beyond the material trappings of our fellow Jew (his wealth, looks, and career), and focus on his Neshama, his soul which is worth no less or more than mine. That should be enough for anybody. After all, it’s infinite.